Remembrance
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: "I know how badly you want to find Claudia. I feel it too. But you can't keep pushing yourself into these locator spells. You're not strong enough for that." (Part 4 of the Reunion series)


When the last of the spell leaves his lips, and he feels his vision going hazy, feels his ears ringing, feels himself sway and begin to collapse, he doesn't fight it. He'd known this was coming.

He awakens under a canopy of trees, on a soft bed of moss. For a moment, that's all he registers. Just the green of the trees, and the softness, and the sweet song of Xadian birds. Then the ache blooms behind his eyes.

He can't hold back a groan. It's everywhere now, in his back, his limbs, his chest. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his head. He tries to sit up, but the pressure only increases, and he nearly blacks out again.

A cool cloth presses against his forehead then, gently. It's his wife, he realizes, sitting beside him. She wipes his brow with something lightly fragranced. An herbal tonic.

"You overexerted yourself," she says. There is, perhaps, a slight scolding in her tone, but it isn't harsh. "You should have told me."

"Told you—_ngh_—what?" He tries to sit up again, nearly blacks out again. Everything hurts, and he's so _weak._

Her hand is against his chest, coaxing him back into the moss. "That you were so exhausted." She dips the cloth into a small bowl and wrings the excess water out of it, before dabbing at his face once more. "I know how badly you want to find Claudia. I feel it too. But you can't keep pushing yourself into these locator spells. You're not strong enough for that."

"I know."

She's right, of course. But the strength of his body is nothing compared to the strength of his conviction. He _needs_ to find Claudia. He _needs_ to.

"And what if Aaravos can sense your magic? He'll move her somewhere else before we even get back on our feet."

"I _know."_

The hurt in his body leaks out in his voice, sharp and tense. He hadn't meant for that to happen. But, truth be told, he _hadn't_ thought of that. That Aaravos could potentially feel he was being tracked. He _should_ have thought of that. And it scares him. He can't lose Claudia.

"Where's Soren?" he asks, making an effort to sound softer. He hasn't forgotten; he promised his wife they'd try to work together without killing each other.

"Scouting and looking for food. We're running low." She dips the cloth in the water again and folds it into a rectangle. "Close your eyes." He does, and the cool and fragrant weight of the cloth settles over them.

He's not sure how much time passes, as he lies there, drifting in and out of slumber. His wife hasn't moved. He can still sense her presence sitting beside his head. He's not sure how he feels about that. He's not sure when he started thinking of her as his wife, and not his ex-wife. Maybe it was just an easy shortcut, to not have to think "_ex_-wife, _ex_-wife" over and over again. But this whole journey, through Xadia, finding Soren, looking for Claudia, has made things feel…different, between them. It hasn't been perfect. They've still butted heads a few times. But she seems…more understanding. More patient. And he… Well he didn't tell her about how exhausted he was, true, but he's been wanting to…to let her in, more. To be more open.

The biggest thing that had once come between them is gone now, anyway.

"Viren?"

She says his name quietly, as though checking if he's awake.

"Hmm?"

"I would like…to tell you something."

"What is it?"

He hears her sigh. "I want to say…how sorry I was…to hear of Harrow's passing. I…know how much he meant to you."

His heart constricts. A sharp, breaking pain, that sends tendrils shooting through his limbs. He hadn't expected to hear that name. He hadn't expected _her_ to say it. _Harrow…_

"I hope," she continues, softly, "you were able to find happiness with him, in the time that you had together."

The squeeze on his chest finds its way to his throat, choking off whatever words he might have found. His eyes begin to sting. He tries to fight it, but the tears come anyway, leaking out from under the cloth. It's the _second time_ he's cried in front of his wife on this trip. But he can't stop it. Harrow was… Harrow was…

He feels her finger gently catch the tears. Then she shifts, and he feels the weight of her head rest on his shoulder. She puts an arm over his chest. Again, no words of comfort, no platitudes; just presence. Steady, soft presence.

When the lump in his throat finally lets up enough, he takes a breath. "Some," he says. "We had some happiness."

She squeezes her arm tighter over his chest, in a brief hug. "I'm glad."

They lie there in silence a while longer, until she again quietly says his name. "Viren, I…would like to tell you something else."

"Yes?"

"I've had…many years to reflect on this. I see now the things I said and did that contributed to the breakdown of our marriage. And I want to say…for my part in how things ended…I'm sorry."

He can tell the words have been practiced. He can also tell they're sincere. It pings against his heart in a strange way, to know that she'd thought about this enough to have practiced it. Practiced _apologizing_. It…shows more care for him than he'd realized.

He thinks back, to when they'd parted. They'd been so tired. Not bitter, not anymore, just tired. He thinks back further to when their tempers flared, and they'd raged at each other over the smallest things. Always the small things, never the actual, larger issues. Perhaps, it's as she said, and they didn't realize at the time what some of those larger issues were. He thinks back further still, to when excitement had filled them, passion, the giddy, heady feeling of being in love. And they had lived in it and for it. And before that, he thinks even to when they'd barely begun to know each other. How they'd traded smiles and, more importantly, conversation, and he'd thought that perhaps, if he couldn't have _Harrow_, he could at least have…

There are things he'd said and done, as well, that he should apologize for.

"I'm…sorry too. Maybe if I'd…been honest about my feelings for Harrow sooner, we could have stayed friends. I've—" His breath hitches. He realizes as he's saying the words that he truly means them. "I've missed your friendship."

After a pause, her arm again squeezes around him. Her words are quiet, muffled against his shoulder. "I've missed yours too."

He reaches up and finds her hand, covering it with his own. But soon, he feels her fingers snake between his. It sends another ping of emotion across his heart. It's still such a familiar gesture.

Eventually, she moves, sitting up and gently lifting the now dry cloth from his eyes. The sudden extra light hurts, and he brings up a hand to shield his face. Which only reminds him of how much everything _else_ aches. Another pained groan rises in his throat.

"Soren should be back soon," she assures him. "He should be bringing something to help restore your strength, and then we can get moving."

He takes his hand from his face, squinting as his eyes adjust. She's wetting the cloth again, about to put it back over his brow. He says her name softly. She looks up, and their eyes meet. He tries to smile.

"Thank you."

They hold each other's gaze for a moment, before she gives a small smile in return. "Any time."


End file.
